


(you look like) you'd be better dead

by fairysylveon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Blow Jobs, Choking, Crying, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, I included rachel in the character tags but she's dead, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Violence, super dead and just laying there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 14:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10389096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairysylveon/pseuds/fairysylveon
Summary: She's dead.But Jefferson doesn't seem torn up about it. Thinking back, he never did; it was never about Rachel, it was about Nathan being a fuckup.Alternatively: The night Rachel dies, Jefferson gets angry and, of course, takes it out on Nathan.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know what I usually write is straight up smut.  
> this is not that. this is a vent, I wrote it in response to feeling really shitty.  
> also, the noncon tag is JUST IN CASE. I feel it's more dubious consent but nathan's reaction to it has noncon elements, so I tagged it that just in case.
> 
> anyway when will I learn to title things properly somebody kick my ass

Jefferson is holding him down by his throat, and he can’t breathe,  _ he can’t breathe _ .

 

There are times when Nathan enjoys this, a hand wrapped around his throat and Jefferson above him. But not now, not this time. This time he’s frightened, scared Jefferson won’t let go, and the edges of his vision are going black. He knows his face must be red, and he’s tugging and clawing at Jefferson’s wrist, trying uselessly to pry his hand from his throat. 

 

Jefferson’s hand moves away, and Nathan barely has time to drink in a lungfull of air before he feels a hard impact on his cheek, and he gasps, cries out. 

 

His eyes are already red, he’s already breathing quick and harsh from recently crying, but he starts up again, tears welling up in his eyes and spilling out over his cheeks. 

 

“God, shut the fuck up!” Jefferson presses a hand down over his mouth, hard, but it’s better than being hit, so Nathan doesn’t move. Just looks up at him with pleading blue eyes, begging him, please,  _ please _ , I didn’t mean to!

 

Apparently begging, even silently, just further pisses him off, because Jefferson presses down harder, putting all of his weight on the hand over Nathan’s mouth. “ _ Don’t _ look at me like that, you little dumbass. You deserve this.”

 

Nathan averts his eyes.  _ Avoid making him angrier. Don’t be defiant, it’ll make it worse. _

 

And maybe, Nathan thinks, maybe he does deserve this. He’s killed someone, and she’s still lying there, on the ground, where Jefferson shoots. She’s so still, so lifeless. Please, Rachel, _please wake up_ , he thinks. Like a child, as if he didn’t understand how death works.

 

He looks over as far as he can without turning his head. She’s still there. She hasn’t, by some miracle, moved or started breathing. She’s dead, and it’s all his fucking fault.

 

He  _ does _ deserve this.

 

He closes his eyes, and cries harder.

 

Jefferson hasn’t hit him again yet, that’s something, maybe he’s done. Maybe Nathan’s tears have proved he’s remorseful enough.

 

But then he grabs Nathan’s jaw, hard, presses his fingers into his cheeks. “Look at me.  _ Look at me, _ bitch.”

 

Nathan does, but he’s wide-eyed, terrified. He doesn’t open his now uncovered mouth; he’d just make it worse. 

 

“You’re fucking useless. That should have been you.” 

 

Nathan wishes he would have just hit him again. Would have hurt less. And now Nathan’s crying impossibly harder, wailing, and Jefferson doesn’t bother covering his mouth again. Maybe, Nathan thinks, he likes seeing the way his words cut through Nathan, how they hurt worse than anything physical Jefferson has ever done to him.

 

Jefferson sits back on the couch, between Nathan’s legs, like he was admiring his work. Like he was loving what a mess Nathan was, tears and snot running down his red face, bruises slowly forming on his neck and cheek. He just sits there, watching Nathan snivel, until his crying dies back down to quiet, stuttering breaths. 

 

Nathan won’t look back at Jefferson, or at Rachel. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can feel Jefferson’s eyes on him. He feels trapped, pinned there, like that hard stare, even when he couldn’t see it, kept him held down. Not that he has the energy to move right now anyway.

 

It feels like hours before his breath evens back out, even if he knows it's only been a few minutes. He finally gets the courage to open his eyes, and looks back at Jefferson. He wants to apologize, but it’s stuck in his throat, and he’s scared it would set him off again. Instead, he just stares back at him.

 

“Come here.” That’s all Jefferson says, and Nathan isn’t sure, exactly, what it means. He  _ is _ here, right here, right on the couch with Jefferson. But Nathan doesn’t want to be hit again, so he sits up, and scoots closer, trying not to let his hesitance show. “You’re going to remind me why I’m keeping you around. Understand?”

 

He doesn’t. But he doesn’t risk speaking; just looks over at Jefferson quizzically. 

 

Jefferson is clearly irritated by his lack of understanding. It shows on his face, and the way he tilts his head like he does when he’s running out of patience. “Christ, you’re a dumb bitch. I  _ mean _ , you’re going to put that pretty mouth of yours to work. It’s the least you can do after your fuckup today. Do you  _ understand? _ ”

 

Nathan nods. This is easy, this he can do. This is far better than fearing for his life or being hit. And maybe this really is all he’s good for, he thinks. 

 

It must be. He lets Jefferson down with everything else. But never with this.

 

Nathan lowers himself to lay on his belly and scoots even closer, putting his head between Jefferson’s legs. He hesitates just a second too long, and Jefferson sighs, heavy and annoyed, and reaches down to unbutton and unzip his own pants. He pulls his dick out, and Nathan watches as he strokes himself to hardness.

 

Nathan flinches when Jefferson hits him in the face with it. 

 

Jefferson is staring down at him expectantly, and keeps slapping Nathan’s cheek with his dick. “What’s the matter? You love this.”

 

Truthfully, Nathan normally does. Usually, he’s got his mouth open and tongue out, eager, usually loves Jefferson’s cock hitting against his face.

 

Now he just feels humiliated and small.

 

He doesn’t answer Jefferson’s question. Instead takes Jefferson’s cock in his hand. Jefferson lets it go, and Nathan runs his tongue up the underside. He takes a deep, shaky breath through his nose, then wraps his lips around the head. Suctions his lips, then pulls back off, licking down the side of the shaft.

 

Nathan pushes himself up onto his hands and pulls his knees under him, putting him in a better position to slide his mouth down farther, and he takes half of Jefferson’s dick in his mouth, starts bobbing his head. He doesn’t moan like he usually does when he gives head; he isn’t enjoying himself, he isn’t getting off on this. Guilt is still too heavy on his mind to feel any arousal and, besides, the still-fresh fear of almost dying by Jefferson’s hands is keeping him from even enjoying the weight of a dick on his tongue. He feels… somehow, numb and devastated, all at once. 

 

Still, he wants to please. If this is all he’s good for, he wants to do it well. So he takes more of Jefferson into his mouth, slides his lips down the shaft until his nose is pressed against coarse hairs, and swallows around it. 

 

Jefferson moans, and Nathan takes it as praise. But it doesn’t help. Somehow, he doesn’t want to be praised, but  _ needs _ it regardless. He needs Jefferson’s approval. He craves it, thinks he might lose himself without it.

 

The thought makes him feel pathetic, but he doesn’t stop. He’s bobbing his head now, pulling his mouth almost all the way off before taking it all the way back into his throat.

 

He quickens his pace. He wants this to be over with. Usually he’s so desperate to get Jefferson’s dick in his mouth, but now he can barely fucking stand it. So he moves his head as fast as he can, suctions his lips around the shaft, and Jefferson hisses in pleasure.

 

“There, now  _ that’s _ what I keep you around for. You’re nothing but a fuckup, but god _ damn _ are you good at giving head.”

 

Nathan feels a lump building up in his throat, and his eyes are stinging, but he can’t cry again, he  _ can’t _ . It’s what Jefferson wants, and Nathan needs this small victory.

 

So Nathan blocks out thinking. About Rachel, about the sting on his cheek, about the dick in his mouth. He tunes it all out, just goes through the motions, and everything is blank and numb.

 

The thing that brings him back is Jefferson pulling his dick out of Nathan’s mouth. It’s abrupt, and Nathan is curious, looks to see what’s happening, and just barely has time to close his eyes before he’s got cum splattering all over his face. On his bruised cheek and over his nose, catching in his eyelashes, and landing on his lips and chin.

 

“Good to know you can still do  _ something _ right.”

 

Another thing he enjoys feels ruined tonight. He loves cum on his face, loves licking it off his lips. Right now, though, he feels so dirty that he’s sure he’d feel unclean after a shower. So filthy he feels like he needs to scratch and scratch and  _ scratch _ until he’s bleeding and he’s gotten rid of the disgusting parts of his skin Jefferson’s semen is now drying on.

 

Instead he stays still. Watches Jefferson tuck himself back into his pants and get up.

 

“Stay there, Nathan.”

 

As if he was going anywhere. As if he had anywhere  _ to _ go.

 

Nathan doesn’t watch where Jefferson is going. He just lowers himself back down and lays on his stomach, wiping at his face with one hand, and doing nothing but smearing it. So he wipes with his jacket sleeve instead, and that helps a little.

 

He’s so preoccupied with trying to get semen off his face, that he doesn’t put much thought into Jefferson coming closer. Until he feels a sharp sting in his neck and panics for a second, before everything fades to black.

  
  


\---

  
  


Nathan is only partially conscious, doesn’t know where he is. It’s dark, and he feels a weight on his thigh, and he’s uncomfortable but he can’t move. He hears distant noises, and thinks he might be outside. He hears the click of a camera. 

 

Mark?

  
  


\---

  
  


Nathan cries again when he goes to the dark room and sees the photo of him laying on the ground, with Rachel’s corpse sprawled out, head resting on his leg. He misses her, and he’d never meant to hurt her, and he doesn’t even  _ remember _ dosing her at all, but he trusts Mark more than he trusts himself. He cries, because Rachel is dead, because Mark had drugged him that night, too, and because Mark hadn’t really spoken to him beyond what was necessary since then.

 

It’s been months since that night. And, more than anything, he misses Mark. Which is funny, somehow, because Mark is right there. In the same room, sitting at his computer, while Nathan is staring at his phone on the couch. He’s right there. How does he miss him?

 

More importantly,  _ why _ ? He’s hit Nathan, many times, before and after that night. He makes Nathan feel like shit so often, always tears him apart with his words, and Nathan feels like he ought to hate him.

  
Instead, Nathan misses him.


End file.
